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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26985295">i just don't know what to do with myself</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/da_vinky/pseuds/da_vinky'>da_vinky</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Penumbra Podcast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Idiots in Love, Juno Steel is in Love, Other, POV First Person, Peter Nureyev Alias Generator (Penumbra Podcast), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, a little tiny bit of angst?, but mostly - Freeform, he is also very very salty, i have so much fun coming up with the names for streams, juno likes it when peter calls him sweetheart, juno steel is bad at feelings, no betas we die like nureyev's parental figures, only kind of tho</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:36:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26985295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/da_vinky/pseuds/da_vinky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nureyev’s been gone for three weeks now. </p><p>You know, it stings because it was only supposed to be three days. </p><p>---<br/>In which Juno is salty, Peter is sorry and they are both gay disasters.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i just don't know what to do with myself</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>cw for:<br/>- intrusive thoughts (fairly minor ones tho)<br/>- mentions of an abusive relationship + the scars from said relationship</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Nureyev’s been gone for three weeks now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You know, it stings because it was only supposed to be three days. It feels like it’s been longer, though. This is the first time we’ve been apart in… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wow. It has been a long time since we’ve been apart. But the point is, Peter Nureyev has been gone for almost a whole month and he hasn’t called </span>
  <em>
    <span>once. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Look, I get that what he does is dangerous and he’s probably undercover at least a little bit so he can’t really have the time to call his girlfriend, but at the same time… what the hell, Nureyev! And he calls himself a gentleman… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I know that he hasn’t abandoned me. I trust him, and I know him, but for some reason there’s always that little voice knocking at the back of my skull and telling me that he’s gone for good, he finally pulled the trigger on something he’s been planning a long while. Intrusive thoughts, huh? Can’t live with ‘em, would certainly like to live without ‘em. No, I just… I miss him, okay? It’s hard to sleep without him here. Doesn’t quite feel like home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My comms beep. Damn, it doesn’t do </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> much anymore… It’s not Rita, tonight is the series finale of ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mer-taurs (Not Seahorses, Those Are Different)’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she wouldn’t call until the commercial break. Plus it’s an unknown number… I pick it up. What the hell, not like I value my life </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Juno? Oh, thank god you picked up.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Holy fucking shit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s Nureyev. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you still there, dear?” He asks, and I realize I’ve been staring at the wall and grinding my teeth instead of answering him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘dear’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>me, Nureyev. Where the hell have you been?! It’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>three weeks!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” I growl, though some part of me absolutely melts in relief that he isn’t dead and more importantly that he didn’t just ghost me to run off with some stupid rich heiress. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know. The job got out of hand very quickly, I had no choice but to stay and clean up! And also, darling, the payout really will be worth it.” At least he has the decency to sound sorry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh. Still doesn’t explain why you couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>call. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Or even send me a message! You think that’s any way to treat a lady?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Juno, I am so sorry. I was under an alias, and I had to surrender my comms to get anywhere near the marks. If it helps, I went under the name Jupiter?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why would you naming yourself after a planet make me feel better about being abandoned for a month?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, silly. One of the old Earthen gods! Master of the sky, king of Olympus, husband to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Juno…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, goddamn it. Why does he make it so hard to stay mad at him? For </span>
  <em>
    <span>once </span>
  </em>
  <span>I just want to have an argument he can’t turn around by being so… suave. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up.” Is all I can muster in response. He’ll know I’m blushing, you can practically hear it in my goddamn voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” Peter asks after a minute. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. You can’t worm your way out of everything with words, Nureyev.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, it always seems to work on you…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, did I tell you to shut up or not? I’m still angry with you.” I mumble, leaning back against the wall. God, I miss him so much. Even fighting with him is better than nothing… And to be fair we do also fight a lot when he’s actually here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be home very soon, sweetheart. I promise. It’s been… difficult without you here, to say the least.” He says, voice lulling into something soft and gentle and rare. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah, I know the feeling. How am I meant to get by when you’re the only one who can reach the plates on the top shelf?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps you should invest in a stepladder?” He laughs quietly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you think you’ll be away often enough for me to need one?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I sincerely hope not, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, isn’t it?” Nureyev teases, and then sighs. It comes through crackly and distorted over the comms, and that one little thing makes me wish he were here more than ever. “So what have you been doing in my absence?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Working. It’s an easy distraction. Rita has me set up with all her favourite streams, so on the rare occasion I’m not working I get to catch up on Hyperion’s finest entertainment.” I deadpan, rolling my eyes, before I remember he can’t see me. “What about you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The same, minus the streams. It sounds like you’re doing fine, my love.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you weren’t here, so I guess you’ll never know.” It’s a low blow, and I realize it as soon as I say it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Ouch.” Comes his crackly reply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Nureyev, I-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no. Your anger is deserved. I thank you for remaining mostly civil with me, in fact. I expected a lot worse.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Still, that was a shitty thing to say. I’m really sorry.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve said shittier, in my opinion. We both have. You know I can’t stay mad at you for long, and in this case I wasn’t even angry with you in the first place.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I can’t stay mad at him either. Fuck, why can’t I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>say </span>
  </em>
  <span>these things instead of dancing around them like hot coals? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” I ask. With other people, my past relationships… That line wouldn’t have gone over very well and I have the scars to prove it. But with Nureyev, it’s different. I know it’s different, but again that stupid little intrusive voice makes me double check every time, makes me go over and over in my head about what he said, whether he lied, if he’s actually mad… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Juno, my darling… Of course I’m sure. With you, I always am.” On his end of the line, a door slams. “A little tangent- do you remember five minutes ago when I said I’d be home soon?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had called me sweetheart, of course I remember. “Yeah… Why?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look outside.” He says, hanging up very abruptly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god…” I mutter to myself as I cross to the window. He really insists on being as dramatic as possible at all times, huh? But that thought is wiped from my head almost as soon as I think it when I see him standing there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks so wonderful all the time. It should be a crime. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nureyev waves to me, a stupid hot grin plastered to his face. It’s so good to see him, I don’t even have any words. I wave for him to climb up, and so he does. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five minutes later, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>here. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Standing in my- in </span>
  <em>
    <span>our </span>
  </em>
  <span>horrible little kitchen as I clutch his arms like he’ll float away if I let go. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Juno Steel.” He says, cupping my face in his hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Peter goddamn Nureyev.” I reply, fingers still knotted in his coat sleeves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then he kisses me, and cliche as it may be, he tastes like home. Peter Nureyev tastes like home and warmth and safety and a little bit like an idiot who doesn’t know how to say he’s in love. I hope he knows what I’m trying to say. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because even though I don’t know how to say it, it’s the truest thing I’ve known in a long time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I love Peter Nureyev. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But I might have to reconsider if he pulls something like this again. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i needed to cleanse my palette from some of the heavier things ive been writing. they're happy!!!! look!!!!!!!!!! i did it!!!!!!!!!</p><p>please leave comments they make me smile every time</p></blockquote></div></div>
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